


Waif

by athenake



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Gen, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter Hybrids, can i still tag hybrids if its just michael?, cat!Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 06:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8152774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenake/pseuds/athenake
Summary: /weɪf/noun1. a homeless, neglected, or abandoned person, especially a child.2. a person who appears thin or poorly nourished.3. an abandoned pet animal. “Gav, what do you think happened?”“Maybe some kind of raccoon got inside and ate the food! Raccoons are common around here, right?”“Yeah, and the raccoon wore shoes, and used a glass of water, and neatly put away the containers of food in the bin after it finished eating with a fork.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Cat!Michael is great and i love and it needs more appreciation.

Michael knows he isn’t going to be sleeping comfortably tonight, especially with the nagging thought of being caught running rampant at the back of his head. At every single noise, at the slightest of rustling in the bushes, he would freeze and turn to stare at the source only to find nothing. Chastising himself for being so jumpy, he continues walking along, keeping his head tucked down, ears pressed flat against his skull beneath his hood. The water pours down harder, soaking through his jacket and leaving his hair stuck to his skin. His ears ache from being squashed and pinned down. He risks pulling the hood off. Triangular furred ears perk up and flick the water off of them.

A van comes screeching around the corner. Michael’s ears perk up and he makes the mistake of lifting his head, pausing in his step. The driver spots him instantly, a single being walking along the sidewalk in all his hybrid glory. The brakes are slammed on and the driver’s door opens.

“Fuck,” he breathes out and turns away from the man. Michael runs across a small stretch of grass before coming to a stop at a chain link fence. It doesn’t stop him as he jumps from the ground and catches the metal bar at the top. Tail flicking for balance, he scrambles over the fence and drops down on the other side with a solid _thud_. He doesn’t waste his time celebrating the minor victory. He takes off yet again across a small car park and rounds the corner of a building, almost slipping on the wet asphalt.

He doesn’t see the sign on the front door or the wall and instead follows along the outside of the building until an opening catches his eyes. A vent, a crawl space. He crouches down behind a couple bins and digs his claws in around the edges of the vent cover. It groans and creaks in protest before coming away with a small twang. After setting the grating aside, Michael climbs into the small space available, feeling metal bending beneath his hands the further into the building he goes.

He reaches a vertical section and pauses, standing up slowly. He could try and wedge himself here and inch his way up, or just wait at the bottom, exposed to whoever looks through the vent opening. His ears twitch, following the distant sound of feet running across wet pavement, splashing through puddles of rainwater, and he quickly makes up his mind.

Wedging his feet against the opposite side of the vent, Michael tucks his tail up and begins the slow and taxing task of climbing up the vertical section of the vent. The footsteps come to a quick halt nearby, probably right outside the open vent, and Michael holds his breath, biting down carefully on his tongue with sharp teeth. A light floods the vent and he glances down with slitted eyes, praying the water in his clothes doesn’t drip right that moment. It must be his lucky day. After a couple seconds, the torch turns off and footsteps can be heard again, slowly receding into the sound of rain.

Michael lets out a breath of relief and rests the back of his head against cool metal. Small droplets of water roll off of his clothes to splatter against the metal below him. He’s not leaving this vent until he’s certain the hybrid catcher isn’t planning on coming back any time soon.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Michael resumes his ascent through the metal shaft, elbows bracing him on either side, tail flicking slowly, cautiously.

Michael’s right hand comes to a stop on a flat surface and Michael kicks away from his left to roll onto the available surface. His hands were starting to sting from the metal’s chilly surface, skin prickling with goosebumps. He takes a moment to collect himself before slowly resuming his crawling forward in the vent. The air seems to be warming up the further he goes, part of his pathway illuminated by small traces of light shining through, displaying the dust collected on the bottoms and sides.

Eventually, he comes across another grate, on his left this time, and pauses to peer into the room he can see. The source of the light comes from a number of computer equipment being left on standby, small lights glowing in the room. Michael dismisses the room with an uninterested flick of his tail and continues on his way. He must be in some kind of technology production office. The next room he comes across seems to be the warmest one so far, pleasantly so, like a sunny spring day. Michael rests his hand against the vent cover and pushes lightly. It gives way almost instantly. Michael’s quick reflexes kick in as he digs his claws into the grill and halts its rapid descent. He lets out a slow breath when it doesn’t slip out of his wet grasp.

Yet again grateful for his night vision, the hybrid glances around the room. He’s up fairly high, taller than the average room would be, and he understands why when he sees the rafters running across the ceiling, a collection of lights hanging from them. He spots a beam to his right and, ever so slowly, reaches out to put his weight on it. It barely moves beneath his hand. Satisfied that it won’t break beneath him, Michael wiggles his way from the vent to the support beam. He pushes the vent cover back into place and makes the mistake of sniffing the air.

Something agitates his nose, that much is certain judging by the way he sneezes next. The sound echoes through the room and Michael’s muscles tense, ears up and alert, tail frozen in its movements.

Nothing happens.

Michael releases his breath and begins making his way across the rafters, spotting a couple couches on the floor below. He wonders if he could lie down there to sleep, wake up in the morning, and quickly hide up here before anyone can arrive. He sees a large amount of lights on the wall behind some open curtains, lighting up posters and frames, an arrow, some words. Nothing he pays much attention to.

Ever so cautiously, he twists his way off the metal beam, dangling his legs towards the floor before letting go. Michael lands in a crouch on the floor beside the coffee table, bracing against the piece of furniture as he looks around himself cautiously.

Nothing happens yet again. No one seems to be left behind as a security guard.

His stomach rumbles, having nothing inside of it since early yesterday morning. Michael pats his abdomen and slowly pulls himself upright, eyes darting between the doors around him. Would a building like this have a kitchen somewhere? Most likely, he just has to try and find out where exactly it is. He sniffs at the air and, yep, the kitchen is most _definitely_ through the door on the left.

He follows his nose, through the door and across a hallway, finally arriving at a kitchen.

Fucking jackpot.

Michael pulls open the fridge door and finds a multitude of containers filled with food, one even has a sandwich in it. He grabs the sandwich and a tub of fruit salad. Although not quite the perfect meal for a cat, still sustainable for the human part of him. He’s at least polite enough to retrieve a fork from a drawer to use on the salad as he stuffs the sandwich in his mouth and grabs a glass of water.

Michael finishes off the food within a few mere minutes, a pleased smile on his face as he saunters back to the warmer room. He pulls off his jacket and hides it beneath the larger couch, leaving him in his less-soaked shirt and ripped jeans. Michael pauses upon noticing the soft rug on the floor. He crouches down to run an inquisitive hand over its surface. A soft smile comes to his face and he lies down on his side to press half of his face into the welcoming surface of the rug, tucking his legs up. He could honestly fall asleep here. Michael barely suppresses the urge to roll around on the soft carpet; the less things he touches the less likely he is to be caught.

He pulls himself away after a moment, glancing at the seats next. He’s polite enough to remove his shoes before curling up on one of the smaller seats, tail wrapping around his legs as he tucks himself into the soft cushion. Michael manages to ignore the way his wet clothes stick to his skin and undoubtedly soak the chair beneath him.

It barely takes him a minute before he falls asleep, warm and comfortable for once in what feels like eternity.

Michael has never been more thankful of his feline senses than when he wakes up.

His ears perk up at the sound of keys and voices, unfamiliar and unrecognisable. Michael’s eyes squint open and he listens intently, hearing loud male voices speaking to each other as a door opens. A door just on the other side of the room he’s in currently.

Without much thought to it, Michael launches his way out of the armchair to behind the larger couch and the curtains. He’s grateful to find a small pillar there, hidden from sight, and quickly makes his way up it, reaching for the safety of the metal rafters. Humans aren’t as good climbers as hybrids, especially cat hybrids, so he should be safe up here for the time being.

He barely has enough time to tuck his tail up beneath himself when the door opens and laughter spills into the room. Michael crouches down against the rafter, barely holding back a hiss of annoyance as lights are flicked on. He covers his eyes with his hands, peering through his fingers at the trio of men as they enter the room. He’s at least grateful for the lights being hung from the rafters, that means it’ll be harder for them to see him. Besides, who ever looks up? There’s no reason to look up when you’re indoors.

“Hey, who’s are those?” one of the men questions, taking a step towards the seat Michael was just asleep on. Pulling his hands away from his face, Michael spots his shoes sitting abandoned on the floor besides the chair. “Burnie, I didn’t realize your shoes were so shitty.” Even if it wasn’t directed at him, Michael’s ears flatten against his head; he loves those shoes, he’s had them for years, they’ve been through hell and back with him. They may be covered in dirt and grime, but they’ve helped him a lot as of late.

“What? Those aren’t mine. If anyone's, they’re more likely Geoff’s shoes, maybe Joel’s.”

“Not mine,” the third man speaks, shaking his head and approaching the person holding the old ratty converse knockoffs. “Doubt they’re Joel’s. Must be one of the intern's.”

“Whoever it is, they must not have taken a bath for a week; your chair smells like _shit_.” Michael doesn’t move, watching the commotion below as his ears remain flat against his skull, hiding between auburn curls. The three don’t seem to be extremely pissed or annoyed at each other, it seems more playful, like how Michael behaved with his siblings when younger. His tail curls around his leg, the tip flicking slowly.

The one Michael assumes to be Burnie just wrinkles his nose and says, “God dammit, I’ll find some aerosol or something.” With that said, he turns and leaves the room, abandoning two of the men who resume shifting around the room, searching for more evidence of someone in the room. Michael holds his breath through most of it, not daring to move an inch, just his head peeking out from behind the metal rafter.

“I’ll go talk to the crew when they arrive, see if we can find out who’s behind this,” said the bespectacled man, turning to head through a different door, leaving behind the third. Michael thinks his name is Geoff, maybe Joel- no, Geoff, he said Joel was someone else earlier.

Geoff glances around the room and squints at the chair some more before speaking up, “Hey, if you’re in here, could you come out and say hi at least? We’re not gonna call the cops or anything, as long as you didn’t break any of our shit, but it’s not good manners to break into someone’s place and not say hello.” Michael barely holds back a small snort, watching as the man glances around the room a couple more times, then looks upwards. Michael barely tucks his head back behind the beam in time, scrunching his eyes closed and praying the human hadn’t seen him. A few seconds later, he hears footsteps followed by a door opening and closing. Michael lets out a sigh and sags against the rafter, closing his eyes. He wishes there was a clock somewhere in the room so he could see how long he has to stay here before the people begin heading home. If someone’s already here then it must be somewhere between eight and nine in the morning, right?

He doesn’t want to risk leaving the safety of the rafters, even if there are only three people here currently. They could return any moment and spot him. Distantly, his ears pick up on chatter and arguments, ears perking to hear it better. He figures it’s coming from the kitchen. Maybe they found out he’d eaten the food in the fridge? Michael still doesn’t move. Instead shifting into a more comfortable position and dangling his arms and legs from the beam. It isn’t easy but he drifts into a light nap from his position up high, ears flicking at every sound in his sleep, waiting for the right one.

As soon as the door to the room opens up again, Michael tucks his limbs back in close to his body. This time he watches a man with a beard walk in, a dirty-blonde behind him speaking in an accent Michael doesn’t recognise. They walk directly towards the setup, seating themselves down on the larger couch, one at each end.

“So, what do they think happened?” the foreign man questions, reaching out to his right and pulling up a metal stand, something that looks like a microphone resting on the end of it. “Someone broke in and sat in Burnie’s seat and ate a midnight snack? Sounds like Goldilocks to me.”

“We don’t know, they might have tampered with our equipment, we just don’t know until we test it. They want us to do the Podcast early this morning so if there are any errors we can fix them.” The man does the same as his coworker, positioning the stand so it’s nearby his face. “My mic looks fine, I don’t think it’s been touched.” Michael wants nothing more than to shout out that they’re perfectly fine, that he didn’t touch anything and that they’re just being overly-cautious assholes, but that would give himself away. Instead, he remains tucked up above them, squinting as his tail flicks sharply and his ears remain perked to catch their words.

“Yeah, same. What do you think actually happened though? Was it one of the homeless blokes from outside? Maybe they found a way in or did Burnie give him keys or something?”

“You know how much that one guy annoys Gus? God, he walks right up to the front door asking for Burnie and Gus has to tell him to go away. I’ve only seen it happen once but it’s hilarious.”

“Aw, wot? Why would you turn away a homeless person? I bet he’s really nice.” Michael rests his cheek against the metal poles, listening to the idle chatter with mild interest. He feels his stomach shift, wanting more food, but he refuses to pay it much attention, instead distracting himself with the conversation happening below him.

“Mhm, he apparently bugs Geoff too. Burnie’s made friends with all the homeless people in the area.”

“That’s not really such a ba-” One of the doors to the room opens again and in walks a blonde woman, smiling and heading straight towards them. “Hi Barb!” the lanky man speaks as his friend slides to the side, away from the stand.

“Hey Gav, Jack!” The woman, Barb, squeezes herself between the bearded man and the armrest, sandwiching the guy in the middle.

“So what’s happening today? Burnie didn’t look very pleased and was having an argument with Gus in the kitchen.” The two men can’t help but laugh and Michael watches them all curiously. Is this what they do for work? Sit around and gossip? They spoke about a Podcast before, so maybe they haven’t started work yet. …what's a Podcast?

“We think a homeless guy broke in last night and slept in Burnie’s seat. Found some really out of shape shoes and his seat smelled like crap. Some food’s missing from the fridge and a glass left on the bench.”

The woman hums and nods, leaning forward to look at the other man. “Gav, what do you think happened?”

“Maybe some kind of raccoon got inside and ate the food! Raccoons are common around here, right?”

“Yeah, and the raccoon wore shoes, and used a glass of water, and neatly put away the containers of food in the bin after it finished eating with a fork,” the other man says with a slightly laugh. Barb joins in, shaking her head. They settle down when a couple more people filter into the room. Michael arches his aching back and glances around. He spots the grill of the vent on the other side of the room and wonders if he could reach there without anyone noticing him. He reaches out with one hand and barely places it down, only to hear the metal give a small squeak. Thankfully no one hears it, but it’s enough to make Michael decide against running for it. He lies back down on the rafter and gets comfortable; looks like he’s going to be stuck up here until they all leave or someone notices him. Preferably the former.

After almost half an hour later of people running in and out of the room, Michael finds himself hanging on the supporting beams above the heads of four people, Gus and Burnie having returned with bottles of beer in hand, setting them on the table whilst Jack leaves to another section of the building. There’s a couple people on the other side of the room, manning cameras and sitting behind computer screens, but Michael hasn’t heard their names being called out yet.

“Three two one!”

Michael startles and digs his claws into the metal beam when someone claps, glancing down to spot Burnie lowering his hands. The other three with microphones do the same while Michael looks on in confusion. They finish that up and Michael hears a couple technical terms being called out to the crew behind the cameras. There’s a couple hand signals and the set falls silent, leaving Michael to look on with a baffled expression.

“Hello everyone and welcome to the Rooster Teeth Podcast!” Michael watches Gus intently as he lists off a couple brand names he can vaguely recognise, sponsors or something for the Podcast? The people on the couches do a quick name call, Barb being short for Barbara and Gav for Gavin he discovers.

“We had a night time visitor last night it seems,” Burnie begins, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. “We walk into work today and find some shoes near my seat, and then we discover my seat smells like someone who lived in a dumpster for three years.” Michael bites back on a sharp reply, choosing instead to watch as the people on the ground interact with each other.

Gus sighs and raises his hand to point towards the kitchen. “And someone ate my fucking sandwich.”

“What about my salad?” Barbara interrupts before they can continue, “Now I have nothing for lunch!”

“You can share some of my lunch, don’t worry,” Gavin says, making the woman smile warmly at him. “Okay, but do we know who it could be? Maybe it was just one of the crew members staying up late and forgot to take their shoes with them.”

“We haven’t hired anybody who has shoes as shitty as those, those are definitely hobo shoes.” Gus looks at Burnie pointedly and Michael can’t help the small smirk on his face. “So which hobo did you give your keys to, Burnie?”

“None! Why do you all look at me whenever something happens involving a homeless person?”

“Because you’re the one who befriended all the hobos in the neighbourhood! They’re always following us around and asking where our ‘Boss’ is and I have to tell them to fuck off. This one dude keeps coming to the building and asking for you!”

“He only has one leg, how could you turn away a cripple?”

“He only has one leg?” Gavin questions, Barbara nodding beside him as they look on at the two older men arguing.

“It can’t be him who broke in here, he only has one leg and there are two shoes!”

“Oh, then which _other_ hobo did you give your keys to?”

“Motherfucker, my keys are right here!” He pulls out a lanyard with a set of metal rings and keys attached to the end, waving them about for emphasis. “They’ve stayed with me the entire night!”

“Then how else did some homeless guy break in here? None of the doors were forced open and the security systems didn’t detect anything.”

“What about the vents?” Gavin suggests. Michael tenses up, eyeing the man with the accent cautiously. “Like, if someone was small enough they could have climbed through the vents and gotten inside that way! Besides, the shafts would be really dirty, that might explain the smell.”

“Okay, so, we go through the vents and try to find the culprit, then what? Are you willing to hand over a homeless person to the police for stealing food which he probably needed to survive?” Burnie says defensively.

“Yes!” Gus retorts, rolling his eyes, “They’re trespassing and they broke into the building! That’s illegal. They dirtied up your seat, how are you so calm about all this?”

“They probably needed to use my seat more than I did, same for the food.”

“Hey, what’s that?” Gus questions, pointing to something underneath the couch. Burnie doesn’t even bother looking, unlike Gavin and Barbara.

“What? No, don’t try to change the topic.”

“It’s a jacket!” Gavin exclaims, pulling out the dark maroon fabric. Michael tenses, resting a hand on his shoulder and cursing himself for being so stupid and leaving his jacket where it could be found so easily. Barbara’s nose crinkles up and she takes the fabric from a gagging Gavin.

“It’s covered in dirt and dust, probably belongs to our hobo night time friend.”

“For those listening to the Podcast, we just found a dirty old jacket underneath the couch. Okay, so, we obviously can’t deny that someone was in here last night,” Gus begins, watching as Barbara tosses the wet jacket off stage. Michael’s stomach turns and his tail lashes, watching and listening intently. “Do we call in authorities?”

“Well, they haven’t touched anything other than the couches and food, right?” Gavin says and receives an affirmative answer. “Then I don’t reckon they’ve done anything bad. They probably just needed a place to stay out of the rain and wanted something to eat. Maybe they’ll come back tonight or something.”

“So, what? We lie in wait and see if they show up?” Barbara asks. When Gavin nods she rolls her eyes. “Okay, sure, since you’re so excited for this, why don’t _you_ spend the night here?”

Michael snickers silently, smirking at the turn of events. Gavin lets out a displeased noise and asks, “Wot? Why me?”

“You suggested it, why not you?” Burnie reasons, grinning. The younger man makes a noise that Michael can’t help but link to a sad, dejected puppy. Then his eyes squint at a newly approaching shape. Orange and furry. Michael’s back arches once again and his pupils narrow into slits, tail raising as he watches the feline approaching the set. “Oh, hey, it’s Joe!”

“Joe!” Barbara chimes, reaching her arms out invitingly. The cat, however, pauses at the jacket left on the floor, sniffing at it and raising its tail cautiously. “Ooh, Joe smells something he doesn’t like.” Sure enough, the feline wanders over to Burnie’s seat and sniffs at that, backing up with a slight hiss.

“He _really_ doesn’t like that scent,” Gavin remarks. “Whoever it is, Joe doesn’t approve.” Michael remains on edge, but he doesn’t dare make a sound. If he stays still, no one will look upwards, no one will notice him hiding here, he’ll be safe another night.

Only then Joe looks upwards and hisses, catching the hybrid’s eyes.

Michael reacts the quickest out of the humans.

He launches himself across the rafters towards the vent, yanking it away and feeling one of his claws snap at the base and come off with the metal. The grate falls with a loud clang to the floor below. There’s a large commotion from behind him as he slips inside of the vent, lots of cursing and swear words as he curves around to the left and follows the vent down a slope, glancing through grating curiously at the rooms he passes.

He hears a lot of “Who _was_ that?” as he passes by a break room and Michael breathes slower, trying to calm his thumping heart. They most likely didn’t get a good enough look at him, assuming he’s a regular homeless person rather than a hybrid.

Michael slows down upon stumbling across a large access room, stepping out of the narrow vent and crouching down. He can almost stand upright in here, having to stoop slightly as his ears touch the top of the maintenance room. His hands shake slightly, toes curling against the cold metallic floor. He contemplates curling up in here, tucking himself into a corner and waiting to warm up, but instead he begins tracking the warmth coming from down one of the other vent shafts. With a small sigh, he follows the warmth and keeps his ears perked, listening to all the shouting coming from behind him.

He traces the source of heat to a room full of computers, much like the first one he brushed past. This one is empty however and when he pushes against the vent access it swings open from the top rather than dropping off entirely. Even if no one’s around, Michael takes slow and silent steps as he slinks out of hiding, tail wrapping around his leg as soon as he picks himself up in a crouch. Distantly, he hears the voice of Geoff and possibly the bearded man getting progressively closer, he can’t distinguish the voices very well. Michael’s eyes dart around for somewhere to hide and quickly fall upon the nearby desk. He worms his way around the chair and tucks his legs up, hoping no one’s paying close enough attention to spot him.

The door to his right swings open, footsteps following as Geoff walks right past the desk, Jack in tow. “Whoever it is probably got spooked and left, so why are they still trying to get someone to go through the vents to see if the poor guy’s still there?” Geoff says with a sigh. Michael barely peeks out around the chair to see the two seating themselves at the desks opposite him.

“Well, it’s just to be safe. Besides, I don’t think the guy’s much of a problem. He’s probably just looking for somewhere warm to relax. His jacket was soaked through so he might be freezing cold.” Michael barely breathes, worried they find him if he so much as exhales too loudly.

Geoff chuckles in response, nodding his head. “Yeah, plus the Podcast set is warm as dicks.” The laughter dies down and Michael swallows, watching as something seems to occur to the older man. “You know, it’s rather warm in here too…” Michael’s muscles tense up. Jack glances at his friend and seems to get the jist of what he’s saying, standing upright. Michael’s claws dig into the carpet beneath him and he glances nervously at the grate of the vent, only for Jack’s feet to stand in front of it. His mind starts up a chant of _‘shit shit shit shit’_ as he watches Geoff go towards the open door and close it. He hears a lock being turned and Michael’s ears press flat against his head, frozen tail wrapped around his leg. “Put something in front of the vent.”

Jack follows through with the suggestion and Michael’s truly trapped now. He glances at whatever he can see of the two men; Jack’s shoes, Geoff’s tattooed arms, wedding rings on fingers. He just prays he can escape from them in the time they take to call the hybrid catcher.

“Hey, are you in here?” It’s obvious Jack’s talking to Michael but he doesn’t dare make a sound, watching as the man slowly begins making his way along the desks, checking underneath and behind them. “Come out, we’re not going to hurt you.” Michael barely stifles a snort but he allows himself to roll his eyes. He withdraws his claws from the carpet but the action makes a small noise and Jack’s head turns towards his desk. _‘Shit shit shit shit shit-’_

A different face makes an appearance barely a foot away and Michael startles, eyes narrowing into slits upon spotting the bearded man’s face. “Here, Jack.” Geoff speaks, smiling. Michael’s lips pull back and he lets out a soft hiss. The human backs up, hand on the chair, and puts some distance between himself and Michael. “I uh, I don’t… Jack, this seems more like your thing.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Michael’s ears remain flat against his head, watching as Jack takes over Geoff’s place, staring at him. At least this man’s smile is warmer than the others, eyes crinkling around the edges. It’s enough to get him to stop hissing but his tail remains fluffed up, hair standing on end in an instinctual attempt to make himself look bigger. “Hey, it’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you, we promise.”

Michael’s stomach turns at the last word; humans always promise what they don’t keep and he’s fallen prey to that kind of thinking more often than he’d like to admit. With a displeased scowl on his face, Michael slowly shifts his feet beneath him, getting into a crouch. Jack realizes what he’s doing far too late, jumping back last second. Michael leaps forward and shoves the chair towards Jack, smacking it into his shoulder and causing him to shout. Geoff calls out his name, watching from a few feet back as Michael slips out from under the table. It takes him a second to shove the boxes away from the vent to pull it open and wriggle his way through. The metal hinged door falls down on his back, digging in, and when he forces himself forward it scrapes along his wet shirt and catches skin, tearing both. A pained shout escapes him and he writhes the rest of the way in.

His back stings and tears prick at Michael’s eyes. Even so, he hisses softly under his breath and retraces his way to the maintenance section.

Only once he tucks himself on a corner does he stop to try and inspect the damage. He pulls off his shirt and drops it to his right, only to set off a small dust cloud. It comes as no surprise that he sneezes repeatedly, only stopping after the fourth. There’s no way the whole company didn’t hear his scream and then the sneezes; vents carry noises way too easily. Michael ever so slowly runs a hand along his back, tracing from the base of his spine upwards. He reaches warm liquid and seethes, withdrawing to see red staining his fingertips. The hybrid presses his forehead to cold metal and growls, his free hand curling into a fist and digging claws into his palm.

He’s not certain how long he stays like that, curled up in the corner rumbling to himself, but Michael’s shaken from his thoughts by a voice. A voice _in the vents_. He can’t tell where it’s coming from; the metal walls echo too much and he’s at the opposite end to the junction, but someone most certainly is inside the vents with him now.

“…don’t get why you had to make _me_ do this, _Jeremy's_  shorter than me.” Michael recognises the accent easily. Gavin. Well, at least Michael’s confident that if the man’s here to try and wrangle him out, he’ll win in a fight, especially with his claws and teeth at his disposal.

He hears some less-than-graceful movements and soft, hushed curses before limbs fall out of the vent on his right and land on the floor. Michael’s muscles tense up, spotting the camera thing in the other’s hands, pointing directly at him “Oh, wow, you really _are_ a hybrid!” Gavin coos, grinning brightly. Michael can’t help the way his nose scrunches up in distaste, tucking his feet beneath him and glancing at the other vents. He wonders if he can slip past Gavin and into one of them before he can get caught. He takes a small step forward before the man puts up a placating hand, “Whoa, hold on, I just… are you hurt? We heard you shout and thought you were badly hurt. Is… is that blood?”

Michael mentally curses himself and quickly wipes off the blood on his fingers, dirtying his pants even more so. He can’t do much about his back, barely able to reach it, unable to see it. He lets slip a small hiss at the other, ensuring he bares his teeth. Gavin, although initially put off by the action, can’t help but smile and laugh afterwards.

“That’s so cool, your teeth and how your tongue does the thing.” And that’s how Michael learns that aggression isn’t going to be helping him here, especially not with Gavin. He stops hissing and instead resumes glaring at the other who continues directing the lens of the camera towards him.

“Hey, Gav!” Michael flinches at the new voice, looking down one of the vents, Gavin doing the same. “We found the med kit so let us in already! There’s a lock on the maintenance room, you gotta open it from the inside before we can use it. Is it safe to close off the vents?”

Michael continues to remain tense, watching the exchange warily. “Yeah, close ‘em off, I’ll open the hatch, just… lock all the doors, okay? The guy looks ready to turn his pants brown!” Michael bites back on a sharp retort but he doesn’t hesitate to growl loudly at the man. Gavin’s attention quickly shifts back towards Michael, fascination gleaming in his eyes “Ooh, wow, that sounds top!”

What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

Michael doesn’t get the chance to ask because the vents start making a groaning noise, metal scraping against metal, and he watches as doors close off his only escape from the room, leaving him in mostly darkness aside from the light of the camera, illuminating the boy’s face as he stares at it.

“Wow, your eyes are freaky bright using night vision,” he states, still smiling with wide, inquisitive eyes. Michael wonders if this guy’s even cried at all in his life or if he’s ever felt anything other than happiness. Michael doesn’t move an inch, remaining backed up in the corner as the boy starts looking along the walls, most likely for the hatch door to open it. “Aha!” Michael watches as he twists a handle and pushes. Light spills through a small gap before someone on the other side yanks it open. Michael hisses yet again, shielding his face and turning away from the brightness. He hears a gasp from behind him and turns his head, spotting Gavin staring at his back. Oh, shit, right, the giant ass wound he has. He glares at the other, watching as an unfamiliar face peers through the gap, spotting Michael and pausing.

The blue-eyed man looks at Gavin. “C’mon, out, you’re scaring him.” Michael’s at least thankful this man is smart enough to not bother him. Gavin nods and passes the camera to the other guy, sliding out of the vent maintenance room. The man he doesn’t know the name of makes a reappearance, sitting half in the door with the camera in hand. “Hey, can you understand me?” he questions. Michael hesitates, wonders if he should play dumb like most hybrids, pretending they’re simplistic animals that can’t understand anything other than _‘sit’_ and _‘lie down’_ and _‘shut up’_. But, with the way the man smiles at him, warm and kind, he can’t help but nod. The man brightens up, showing some teeth in his grin, and speaks again, “Good, my name’s Ryan. Do you have an owner?”

Something foul bubbles at the base of Michael’s throat and he scrunches his nose up. Once upon a time he would have nodded proudly, but now… now he bitterly shakes his head and growls. Ryan’s face softens like he understands and Michael’s shoulders drop at the openness of it.

“That’s fine. Do you have a name?” Michael nods again and opens his mouth to speak, only for a small squeak to come out. He clears his throat and tries again, but his mouth is parched and he falls short. He digs his claws into his palm some more, scolding himself. “Hey, it’s okay, let me just…” Ryan leans back from the hatch, looking over his shoulder, “Jeremy! Can you grab a glass of water and whatever food you can from the kitchen? Meaty if you can.”

Michael hears some kind of affirmative from behind Ryan before the man looks back at him, still smiling. He thinks he hears Gavin's accent from outside, complaining or whining about something or other, but it’s blocked out by Ryan’s words.

“So, you don’t have any owners? No home?” Michael shakes his head and continues to stare at the human, not dropping his gaze. Ryan isn’t perturbed by his actions, simply nods thoughtfully and resumes the questions. “Were you the one who ate the food from the fridge last night?” Michael nods and his ears twitch against the base of his skull, catching the man’s attention. “Cat?” A second nod. “Hmm, that gash looks pretty bad, can I look at it?”

Michael’s metaphorical hackles go up and he withdraws with a displeased hiss. Ryan holds his hands up, leaning against the frame of the hatch. “Hey, no, I just want to make sure it doesn’t get infected or anything. I have a med kit out here for when you’re willing to come out.” A growl joins his hiss, rumbling from deep within his chest. And, _gee_ , Michael _wonders_ why his throat is so raw with all this hissing and growling he’s doing.

Ryan opens his mouth to say something else when another unfamiliar face makes its appearance, setting down a glass of water and what looks to be a bowl of spaghetti bolognese. Michael’s stomach growls at the sight and he watches as the man, who he assumes to be Jeremy, gives him a small wave and backs away. Ryan nudges the bowl of food slightly, fork resting in it, and looks at Michael.

“If you want food and water, I want you to come here and get it. I’m not going to hurt you and we’re not calling for the Hybrid Authorities.”

He’s not sure whether or not he believes him, huffing slightly and ducking his head down in his shoulders. Even so, he has nothing else to do, has nowhere else to go, and hesitates. It takes him a few seconds before he steps closer, remaining in a crouch. If this guy tries anything funny, he isn’t going to guarantee he won’t scratch him up a good bit.

“You can’t take it away,” Ryan continues speaking, “you have to eat it here, you can’t grab the food and sit back in your corner, okay?” Michael falls short and his eyes narrow, pupils constricting as he glowers at the man. Ryan merely smiles at him, nudges the bowl to the side again, and waits patiently.

Michael gives in to his hunger and takes the final few steps closer, folding one of his legs and keeping one knee upright as he sits down. He reaches out hesitantly and grabs the bowl, picking it up. Ryan doesn’t move, doesn’t try to grab him or drag him out, and Michael lets out a small sigh of relief. He holds the bowl close to him and picks up the fork in his fist, beginning to shovel down the noodles and mince.

“Now, what is your name?” Ryan questions, using his free hand to nudge against the glass of water. Michael places his fork in the bowl and reaches out, picking up the glass of water and taking a long gulp from it. He sets the glass water down and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Michael.”

Ryan grins at him, pleased that he’s making progress, and Michael glances past him, spotting a small collection of people whispering to each other. His ears perk up and he tries to hear what they’re saying. He can hear _‘hybrid’_ and _‘what are we going to do’_ mostly. Ryan chuckles lightly, catching the hybrid’s attention.

“Your ears are cute when they do that,” the man explains. Michael’s ears fall flat against his skull, hiding amongst his messy hair, and he ducks his head once again. “Don’t worry, that was a compliment.” Even so, Michael resumes eating the warm food, attention shifting between Ryan and the people gathering outside of the maintenance room.

“Will you come out of here?” Ryan asks after a while. Michael pauses in licking the fork clean of sauce, placing the bowl down to squint at the man cautiously. “What if I offered you more food and water, a blanket, and clean clothes?” His ears perk up at the offer, traitorous ears. Ryan’s lips curve into a smile once again and he shuffles backwards, out of the maintenance room. “Come on, no one’s going to touch you so you need to come out here to get more food. It’s freezing in there.”

“Is he coming out?” Geoff questions, peering over Ryan’s shoulder.

“Yes, so get as many people out of here as you can.” Michael’s grateful for Ryan’s request; he doesn’t want to be surrounded by ten, fifteen people when he’s struggling with talking to just one of them. He hears Geoff’s voice again, loud and asking everyone to leave the room. There are a couple complaints but it eventually falls fairly quiet outside and Michael eases a little. “There’s a shower in the disabled bathroom if you want one,” Ryan suggests, watching as the hybrid takes another small step closer, warily checking out the room behind him. It’s fairly small, a circuit breaker on the wall behind him, the mechanical hum of electricity to go with it.

“Okay…” he says slowly, watching as Ryan stands upright and takes a few steps backwards, camera in hand. Michael’s movements are slow and cautious reaching out and placing a hand on the edge of the door, sniffing at the air. All he smells is concrete and dust. He spots Geoff standing by the door, arms folded over his chest, staring off anyone who approaches curiously to get a peek at the stowaway hybrid in the office.

“Michael, right?” Geoff asks, getting a nod from the hybrid. He smiles and watches as Michael takes another step out from the hatch, straightening upright, tail still tightly wrapped around a leg. “C’mon, get washed up and we’ll look at that nasty cut on your back. Sorry for spookin’ you earlier, we didn’t mean to.”

Michael simply nods and glances back at the vent, hesitating. He has to admit, it’s warmer here than it was in there. Ryan stands to the side, gesturing for Michael to go towards Geoff. It takes a lot of mustering up enough courage before he takes the few steps required to approach the older man, breath wavering slightly as his skin prickles again, goosebumps covering his arms. Geoff doesn’t fail to notice and he gives him a concerned look before turning and pushing open the glass door, waiting outside and looking back at Michael.

“C’mon, the bathroom’s halfway down the hall.”

Michael takes a slow step closer, only to tense up at the sound of a loud clang, jumping slightly and spinning around to growl. Ryan pauses, raising his free hand as he finishes closing up the maintenance hatch. “Sorry, just don’t want cold air coming out of there,” he explains. Michael nods and breathes out slowly to stifle his growling, returning his attention towards Geoff as the man begins to lead the way. Michael has to take a few quick steps to follow him, trailing along a hallway with picture frames on the walls, glass doors letting him peer into computer rooms and storage areas.

Geoff stops outside a room and uses his keys on the door before pushing it open and flicking on the light. “Special disability bathroom is only really used for people who have to do all-nighters, so we keep it locked up to deter people who don’t really need it.” Michael nods and peers inside cautiously. He spots a toilet and sink, a shower on the wall beside it, and a cupboard in the corner. He steps inside and glances back at Geoff. “I’ll go grab some spare clothes, there should be a towel in the cupboard. Lock the door and wash up, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Michael nods and watches as the man wanders down the hallway. He shuts and locks the door, taking a few cautious steps backwards. He breathes out a heavy sigh and glances around the small room. There’s a bench along one wall and he places his clothes on it once he shucks out of them. He’s not above rifling through the cupboard and sink, finding unopened soap, complimentary sized hair washes, and a towel.

Michael can’t remember the last time he washed himself with soap or shampoo, but he’s grateful as he watches dirt and grime swirl down the drain.

He doesn’t even realize he’s purring by the end of it, wrapped up in a towel, warm and content as he rests on the bench.

He’s startled by a knock on the door, “Hey, Michael? I got some clothes for you, can you unlock the door? I’ll just stick my arm through for you to grab them.” The hybrid’s movements are slow and cautious as he shuffles towards the door, reaching out and clicking the lock before taking a quick step backwards. The door opens up barely a crack and a tattooed arm holds a shirt and some pants out. “They might be a bit loose on you, but it’s better than nothing. I hope you have a pair of boxers on you. Don’t put the shirt on, just come to the door when you have pants on so Ryan can see to your wound.”

“Okay,” Michael replies, accepting the offered clothes from the man’s hand. As soon as the door closes again, Michael puts the lock back on and sits down. He holds the shirt up, looking over the words on the front. _‘Make mistakes’_? He’s not really complaining. The pants are just a pair of jeans but they’re in far better shape than his own. He puts his boxers back on and pulls the new pair of pants onto his legs, lips quirking slightly at the comfortable fabric. Michael can’t really help but hold the shirt up to his nose and sniff curiously; he smells the distinct scent of alcohol underneath the flowery aroma of washing detergent.

Michael takes a few minutes to bask and soak in the warmth of the bathroom before he goes to the door and unlocks it again, opening it slightly. He spots Ryan waiting on the other side of the room, a small box hanging from his hand. He lifts his head from his phone when the door opens, smiling at Michael and holding the medical kit aloft.

“So, you okay with me treating you?” the man asks, waiting for Michael to nod affirmative before he pushes away from the wall and approaches. Michael automatically slinks backwards, backing into a corner as the man pushes the door open enough to slip inside and shuts it behind him. Even if his tail is slightly damp, it attempts to fluff up again, ears folding flat against his head; he’s trapped in the small room with this man he’s barely known for a few minutes. Ryan seems to notice his discomfort and remains on the other side of the room, setting the kit down on the bench and opening it. He turns his attention towards Michael eventually after retrieving a couple things from the box. “Not going to hurt you. It might sting to clean up your wound, but I’m not going to force you to do anything. Come over here when you’re ready.”

Michael can’t help but growl lightly, eyes narrowing. “Stop that,” he huffs.

Ryan blinks slowly, his smile faltering. “Stop what?”

Michael’s face screws up into a frown, scowling at the other man. “Stop pretending to give a shit! You owe me nothing, so stop trying to be so nice to me.”

“I’m not prete-”

“Oh that’s fucking  _rich!_ ” Michael spits out, the growl in his chest only getting louder as his tail lashes at the air. “So, what, I’m a novelty? Oh, look at the poor hybrid, won’t it get us lots of publicity and attention if we pretend we give a fuck? Next thing you know, as soon as I’m no longer important, back out on the streets it is for me. Well, y’know what? No! _Fuck you_ and all your asshole work friends! I am _not_ going to fall for any more of your goddamn _bullshit_ anymore! I’m-”

The door bursts open and Michael swears he has a miniature heart attack, slipping on the tiles and slamming the back of his head against the wall. He lets out a pained whine and curls his hands in his hair, backing up further into the corner and sliding down onto his ass. He doesn’t even register who the new person is, sniffing as his head thumps painfully, back aching.

“Hey, Michael,” the new arrival speaks, Michael recognizing Jack’s voice vaguely, even if it sounds similar to Ryan’s. He cracks open an eye and glowers at the large man as he approaches, letting slip a weak hiss. “No, hey, it’s alright, not going to hurt you.” Even with the words, Michael tucks his legs up closer, tail wrapping around his ankles. “Come on, we just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“ _Liar_.”

Jack doesn’t look as shocked as Michael would have expected him to be, taking slow, cautious steps towards Michael.

“Look, we just want to patch up your wounds, okay? We can get an ice pack from the freezer after Ryan disinfects the wound on your back. Are you still hungry?” It takes Michael a second to register the other’s words but when it finally gets through, he gives a small shake of his head, closing his eyes and focusing on breathing. “Okay, we can find you somewhere warm to lie down then, will that be good?” Still hesitating, Michael gives a slight nod. At first, he flinches away from the fingers as they touch his wrist, but he holds still the second time. Jack pulls his hands away from his head, smiling once Michael opens his eyes to look at him. “Let me just see your head, make sure you’re not bleeding.”

Michael bows his head and rests his face against his knees, feeling the faint brush of fingers along the hair at the back of his cranium. His tail shakes just like his hands as they clench against his thighs.

“You’re fine, just a little bump,” Jack says, pulling back and crouching down in front of Michael. His hands rest on top of Michael’s, grip loose as he pulls at the hybrid encouragingly. “Come, Ryan just wants to patch you up and then you can go lie down. Are you tired?” He nods slowly and his gaze flickers over to Ryan, but the man merely shifts to organise the wipes, padding, and a small bottle of liquid that he retrieved from the kit.

Michael’s legs take a couple moments of encouraging words before they finally begin to work, standing upright. Jack holds one of his arms at the elbow for support as he leads Michael to the bench, seating him down with his back to the other man.

“Okay, Michael, this is going to hurt a little,” Ryan warns. Michael glances over his shoulder and sees him dabbing a wipe in whatever liquid is in the bottle. He holds the latter up to display the label. “It’s just some antiseptic but it isn’t pleasant.” Michael notices how he doesn’t make a move, looking for some kind of acknowledgement first. When the hybrid nods, he turns his attention towards the other’s backside. The pain is just a soft throbbing sensation now but that feeling only intensifies when Ryan dabs at it. The shallow whine that slips out of him makes the other hesitate. Since Michael doesn’t pull away, Ryan continues cleaning the wound. He doesn’t miss the way Jack remains close by, staring at Michael with concern. His heated skin shivers under stinging touches and he wants nothing more than to get away from the pain but he knows that the antiseptic is helping him. He tucks his legs up and rests his cheek against his kneecaps.

A minute later and Ryan finishes up cleaning. “Okay, this is just some padding so it won’t get infected,” he explains, withdrawing a roll of tape from the kit. He begins sticking the pads in place over the wound. Michael’s tail flickers, calming down from it’s earlier irritation. He remains surprisingly still throughout it all, waiting until Jack hands him the shirt given by Geoff before moving. He takes the article of clothing gratefully and pulls it on over his head. He glances at his worn pants, only to be waved off by Jack.

“Don’t worry, I’ll deal with them. Ryan, take him to our office; it’s warmest in there. Get someone to grab an ice pack for his head.” Michael stands up and barely winces at the pain from his back, running a hand over the covered surface curiously. His attention shifts to the door as Ryan opens it and steps outside, waiting for Michael to follow. The hybrid does so, albeit slowly, and peers up and down the hallway. His gaze falls on a redhead talking to Barbara in front of a door, her attention shifting to him as she gives a wave. Michael doesn’t return the gesture, trailing after Ryan as he walks away from the two girls.

Ryan enters one of the rooms to his right, holding the door open for Michael. “Gavin.” Sure enough, the guy with the accent is in the room too. He perks up at the mentioning of his name, spotting Michael almost instantly and grinning. “Go grab an ice pack from the kitchen for Michael.”

“Wot? What happened?” Gavin questions, standing up from his computer and glancing between the two curiously. Michael quickly steps to the side, recognising the desk he had hid under previously as being the one Gavin was seated at.

“Bumped his head, that’s all. Hurry up.” Ryan says, walking over towards the couch. Gavin rushes past Michael and out of the room, leaving the cat hybrid to look at Ryan for some sign of what he should be doing. He watches as the man shoves a couple items off the couch before gesturing for Michael to come closer. “Even if it wasn’t a hard enough hit for a concussion, you might still feel a bit woozy or dizzy. Just shout out if you feel like throwing up, yeah?”

Nodding, Michael takes a couple slow steps towards Ryan, eyeing the couch. He has to admit, it looks far comfier than the armchair he slept in last night. Ryan steps away as he approaches and turns his attention towards one of the computer desks. Michael slips onto the couch, tucking his legs up beneath himself and curling into one of the corners, tail wrapping around his feet. A few moments later and the door to the office opens up again, Gavin walking inside and nudging the door shut behind him. He holds up an ice pack triumphantly and approaches Michael, completely oblivious to the way the hybrid’s ears fold backwards in distaste.

“Got the ice pack! Here, hold it against your bump,” Gavin says, offering the ice pack wrapped up in a towel. Michael hesitates a moment before reaching out and snatching the ice pack. Gavin, although surprised by the hybrid’s speed, just laughs and seats himself down on the couch. He’s far too close for Michael’s liking but he simply leans away from the taller man and gingerly rests the ice pack against his head. There’s a small moment where he whines at the pain and that catches Gavin’s attention. “Hey, you okay?”

“Fucking peachy,” Michael grates out. Rather than being offended by the rudeness, Gavin just chuckles, making some remark about him cursing and being grumpy. His ears slowly perk up, cheek resting on the arm of the couch. Geoff reappears in the room and glances at Michael, resting and almost asleep, and can’t help but chuckle. Michael pretends he doesn’t hear him, ignores when the couch shifts and Gavin’s weight disappears from his side. His eyes droop and he’s struggling to keep them open. The ice pack slips from his grip and he doesn’t hear when it drops to the floor, eyes closing fully as he rests, comfortable for the second night in a row.

“One two three, one two three.” Michael startles awake, preparing for the clap, eyes blinking open and glancing around himself. No one claps this time and his nerves settle. His ears perk up and he glances at the screens of the computers nearby. He’s seen video games before, seen others playing them, seem past owners and their kids playing occasionally, but he’s never been allowed to touch a controller or a computer before. He spots Jeremy and Gavin sitting with their backs to him, Ryan, Geoff, and Jack on the other side of the room. They're all gathered around their own computer screens with one left over spare, turned off. The other four copy Jeremy, counting to three and repeating it, clicking their controller as they do so. Michael watches them in silence, resting his head back down on the armrest. Ever so slowly, he stretches out his legs across the seat, one at a time, fanning out his toes as he does so. His legs get caught on a blanket, draped haphazardly across his shoulders, and he spreads it out across his frame fully before lying down comfortably yet again.

The screen is some game involving lots of squares, punching things, and building. Michael watches the two screens turned towards him, Gavin splitting off from the rest of the group to go mining.

When Gavin screams and yells, it makes Michael’s tail twitch and raise slightly. His head snaps around, looking for the cause for the fear, only then he realises the reason behind the commotion; Ryan’s taken to attacking the foreign man in the game, knocking him into a pool of lava. “Ryan, that was mean, Ryan!” The other man merely laughs from across the room.

Michael can’t help but snicker along too, catching the group’s attention.

“Hey, look, he’s awake!” Geoff says with a grin, but he doesn’t leave his computer chair. Michael’s ears flicker, lowering slightly. The nervousness passes as Gavin grins at him brightly, even as his screen turns red and states he’s dead.

“C’mon, Michael,” the hybrid’s ears twitch again at the odd pronunciation of his name, “grab the chair there and come watch us!” He points at the unused chair by the computer desk. Michael glances at it, then back at Gavin, squinting. Ever so slowly, he slides off of the couch, pulling the blanket with him, and slips into the seat indicated. He wheels it over towards Gavin who’s immediately stuck himself back into his game. Michael keeps his distance, peering over the man’s shoulder to watch as he punches trees and creates tools, all the while talking into a microphone, just like the other four.

It sort of snaps into place that they’re recording their voices and game to post online, just like the Podcast, with all the cameras and mics set up. So _that’s_ what kind of company this place is. Michael tucks his legs up on the chair and rests his chin on his knees, blinking slowly at the computer screen as his ears twitch, tail swaying slowly.

He watches as Gavin walks directly into the pool of lava he died in last time and lets out another soft chuckle, muttering, “Fucking moron.”

“Don’t be mean too, Michael,” Gavin pouts, but there’s a smile on his face. Michael knows he’s going to spend as much of his time as possible annoying and pointing out Gavin’s flaws.

It takes barely a few minutes for Michael to begin chastising Gavin’s every move. “Why the fuck did you turn all of your wood into sticks? Now you have no wood to make a fucking pickaxe! Why are you such a goddamned idiot?!”

“Ahaha, but I have two pieces of cobblestone!” Gavin replies, smiling, only to be shut down with Michael’s next words.

“Oh! That’s fucking great! That solves everything!” The sarcasm metaphorically drips from his words, soaked in it as he turns and hisses at Gavin. “Because _you can’t make a fucking pickaxe_ with _two pieces of cobble!_ Jesus fucking Christ!”

If it were anyone else he was hissing at, they would have retreated and ran from the room or possibly slapped some sense into Michael. But as it stands, Gavin simply laughs sheepishly and nods, shrugging. “Ah, yeah.” Gavin leans over to peer over his monitor at the others. “Do you guys have a piece of cobble you can lend me?”

“No, fuck off,” Geoff snorts. Gavin huffs, faux-indignant, and hurries over to a nearby tree, punching it down and getting more wood.

Once he has a wooden pickaxe in hand and mined a couple more pieces of cobble, he smiles and crafts a stone pickaxe, switching view to admire the tool. “See? All fixed!”

“Good job, you just wasted three minutes of my life, I expect full repayment by the end of the week.” Michael heaves a sigh, ducking his head to hide the grin on his face.

“Or what? You gonna lick me to death?” That only serves to rile up the hybrid even more so. He grabs the back of Gavin’s chair and hooks his leg at the base of it before pulling. The thing teeters and Gavin’s arms retreat, flailing widely for balance but only serving to make him fall quicker. The piece of furniture falls on its back with Gavin, leaving the man coughing as the air leaves his lungs. Michael full out laughs, cheeks dimpling and eyes crinkling around the edges. The rest of the group glance over and join in the commotion, Geoff’s being one of the loudest laughs. Once Gavin regains his breath, he picks himself up and frowns at Michael, “That wasn’t nice, Michael.”

“No shit! It was fucking hilarious though, wasn’t it?”

“God, Michael, you’re great! Fucking perfect, don’t ever change, dude!” Jeremy calls out, smiling as Gavin picks up his chair and rights it, sitting back down at his desk with a faintly reddened face. Michael straightens and smiles, feeling a soft rumble in his chest. It’s so quiet that only Gavin gives him an odd look, quirking an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything. Michael does force himself to stop with a clearing of his throat when he sees Gavin smiling.

By the time the five of them finish up gaming, Michael’s barely conscious yet again, curled up on the chair and smiling to himself. He can hear the humans’ voices but can’t be bothered moving or replying to them as they speak amongst each other.

“Geoff, what’re we going to do with the kid? We can’t exactly turn him over to the Local Hybrid Authority, you _know_ how they treat hybrids there.”

“I know, I know. Uh, Jack, you’ve got a hybrid, right? Do you know anyone who would be willing to look after him or adopt him?”

“Not a clue. I mean, what’s keeping _us_ from adopting him?”

“You can’t adopt him, you already have a hybrid - even if she lawfully belongs to Caiti.”

There’s a soft humming noise, thoughtful, before Ryan speaks up again. “Well, Jack can’t adopt him because he already has a hybrid and you need a license to have two, I can’t because I have kids and a dog at home, Gavin can’t because he’s not even an American Citizen, Jeremy hasn't properly moved yet, so…”

“ _M_ _e?_ Oh no, why can’t, like, Burnie or Joel take him?”

“He probably trusts you the most out of all other viable options, Geoff, you _know_ this.”

“…I’ll think about it. For now, where’s he going to stay?” Michael can’t hear the reply very well, but he doesn’t have to.

He feels hands slowly scoop underneath his legs and back. When he feels himself being lifted up, Michael’s eyes snap open and he reaches out, grabbing hold of the person by the shoulders. Ryan startles and quirks an eyebrow. “I’m just putting you back on the couch,” he explains. Ever so slowly, Michael retracts his claws and nods, allowing himself to be placed down on the cushions, blanket and all.

“Michael, hey, buddy,” Geoff speaks, crouching down to be on level with him. Michael lifts his head up, ears twitching to show he was listening. “There’s some leftover pizza at the bottom of the fridge, you can eat that if you wake up and we’re not here tomorrow morning. You reckon you’ll be alright to stay here for the night?”

Michael nods yet again. “Sounds like heaven,” he admits, turning his head to press into the cushion of the couch. There’s a small chuckle from someone, sounds like Jack, and Michael hears computers powering down and feet shuffling around.

A hand rests on his head and Michael automatically tenses up, eyes snapping open as he turns and attempts to bite the person’s hand. Gavin quickly retreats, alarmed, eyes widening. Michael realises his fault, ears folding backwards as he looks away. “Give me some goddamn warning next time, asshole.”

This time, when Gavin rests a hand at the back of his head, Michael allows it. “Yeah, sorry, lad. See you tomorrow?” Michael nods and the hand retreats, albeit slower this time. He hears feet wandering away followed by the door closing.

The sound throughout the office slowly begins to fade away, people leaving to go home and others falling quiet. Soon, Michael can tell he’s the only one left in the building. After shuffling down farther into the couch and pulling the blanket up further around his shoulders, Michael allows a small purr to fill his chest, thrumming with content as he curls up and falls asleep.

A loud noise wakes him in the middle of the night, but Michael can’t identify it as he’s jolted out of his dream. He listens intently, wondering if maybe it was Joe or a late-night worker, but he doesn’t hear the noise come again. He rests his head back down on the couch, intending to go back to sleep, but then he hears feet shuffling from the hallway, a door opening. Michael sighs and glances around, trying to get a hint at what time it is, but at most he relies on his internal clock. His internal clock says it’s Way Too Fucking Early O’Clock.

Something nags at the back of his head, says maybe it’s an intruder, someone breaking in to steal something, and Michael quickly perks back up. If something _is_ taken then he’ll get the blame for it. He’ll be back out on the streets in an instant.

Slowly, he pulls back the blanket from his shoulders, shivering at the coolness as it swarms him. He’s thankful that his feet are slightly padded on the bottom as he stands, keeping himself crouched low as he wanders towards the door. At least the hinges don’t creak as he pulls the door open just enough to peek out into the hallway. He sees a flashlight shining from one of the offices down the hall, a figure heading out of the room and into the second one beside it.

Definitely an intruder.

Michael smothers the growl in his chest and begins walking towards the open doorway, hearing rustling and a couple items being dropped to the ground, cursing following. Michael sniffs at the air, unable to recognise the scent, not from all the things he’s smelt around the building today. He hesitates by the door, listening intently with his feline ears. Something heavy drops followed by soft laughter and Michael’s tail bristles.

He steps out from hiding, the previously suppressed growl finally emanating from behind bared teeth. The man startles, eyes widening as he takes a small step back. Michael makes a move towards the man, letting slip a hiss as he remains crouched. The man glances him over, obviously trying to gauge his rates of survival in a fight. He seems to come to a conclusion, reaching to his right to retrieve a golf club. Michael hesitates; the weapon has a longer reach on him and he’s not so certain about how well he can win in a fight against someone with a golf club.

His opponent makes his decision for him.

Michael has to take a quick jump backwards to avoid the arc of metal as it swings past his chest, a follow up attack coming back and snagging against Michael’s bicep. The soft hiss of pain he lets out only seems to spur the man on, swinging the weapon downwards, aiming for Michael’s head. The hybrid barely has enough time to dodge to the side, air rushing past and catching the tips of his fingers. His hand burns and he takes a wary step away, eyeing the burglar as he swings yet again, pushing Michael further backwards down the hallway.

After earning himself a bruise on the thigh and another on the right side of his abdomen, Michael finally gets the chance to lash out. The man takes too big of a swing, too much power, and he swings so hard the golf club gets caught in a door frame. It gives Michael just the time he needs to lunge forward. His claws extend and catch on the man’s chest, forcing him backwards. His attention shifts to the arm holding the golf club, swiping his claws at the man’s forearm until the weapon falls to the floor with a yell of pain. Bright red streaks cover the man’s skin and he reels back with his other hand to take a punch at the hybrid.

Knuckles connect with Michael’s cheekbone and he pulls away briefly with a pained yowl. Before the man can get in a second punch, Michael catches both hands on the man’s wrists and holds them at bay. That settled, he shifts and bares his teeth at the man, ears folded flat against his head as he hisses and snaps at the other’s face. His eyes widen and his struggling intensifies, no longer attempting to attack, now just trying to writhe his way to freedom, to safety. Michael narrowly avoids a knee to the groin, earning a bruise on his inner thigh.

Figure he’s had enough, Michael leans forward and sinks his teeth into the tender flesh of the man’s shoulder. He feels fabric give way and skin pop beneath his fangs, a shriek of pain following.

Michael steps backwards and sneers at the man, shoving him roughly towards the direction of the front door. The man goes without much more encouragement, stumbling at first before taking off at full sprint, a hand pressed to his shoulder. Michael growls the entire time, watching as the man disappears and leaves the building entirely.

Michael’s growl eventually dies down and he ignores the flashlight left on the floor. Instead, he turns around and returns to the office he originally fell asleep in, curling up on the couch once more. His body aches, from his cheek to his side, from his arm to his thigh. The aftertaste of blood sits on the tip of his tongue when he runs his tongue over his teeth. He runs his fingers gingerly over his bruises before pulling the blanket back over himself. He has one hell of a story to tell the others when they return in the morning.

He’s woken up by the sound of keys and the front door opening. Michael cracks open an eye and his ears perk up. He pushes away the covers and all but bounds towards the door connected to the hall. He pulls it open and heads towards reception, hearing footsteps. Judging by the small amount of light filtering from the end of the hall, it must be around 7am, earlier than the arrival of the crew yesterday.

Michael slows down his approach when he doesn’t recognise the voices or the scents slowly wafting towards him.

He realises why he doesn’t recognise them the moment the men turn the corner, spotting Michael standing there. His eyes snap to the all-too-familiar logo of the Local Hybrid Authority emblazoned on the three men’s shirts. The tallest of the trio shouts at him, hand on the taser by his hip. Michael turns tail - literally - and rushes to return to the office.

He gets a single hand on the door handle when he hears a loud snap and two twin pains blooming in his backside. His legs refuse to cooperate and he stumbles, falling flat onto his face. He can barely unlock his jaw muscles, breath coming out ragged through his nose as he grinds his teeth together and growls in his chest. He suffers through at least ten seconds of electricity pulsing through his veins before the man finally decides to turn it off. Michael’s lungs heave and he pants on the floor, twitching occasionally as he feels the barbs still embedded in his backside.

Shadows fall across his face and Michael’s growl kicks up a notch as he digs his claws into the floor. A calloused hand grabs onto his wrists and puts them in cuffs whilst the hybrid is momentarily incapacitated. Wire loops around his neck and a snarl slips past his lips, chin tucking down to try and stop it to no avail. Metal digs into his throat, pulling him backwards, and hands grab him by the bicep.

“Get up, cat,” one of the men orders, only serving to make Michael snarl and hiss at him even more, leaning his weight against the wall. He snaps at a hand that presses against his shoulder, earning himself a shove and a forearm pressing against his trachea. His throat closes up a little and he chokes on the feral noises slipping out of him, coughing into the other’s face. He apparently doesn’t like that as he shoves Michael again towards the building’s entrance. His muscles are lethargic in their motions, staggering and causing him to knock into more things and leave behind even more bruises on his skin.

How did they know he was here? Surely no one ratted him out, right? They were talking about adopting him and… even if he hates all his past owners, these ones seemed at least far nicer than they ever were to him. The sting of betrayal starts to take root as one of the catchers opens up the front door and yanks Michael along with him towards a large van parked nearby. Michael’s memory stirs and he remembers the burglar that had entered previously. Of course, the guy must have called the catchers to get Michael out of the way. He’s not wearing a collar, so obviously the Hybrid Authority believes he doesn’t have an owner.

“Stop, there’s a burg-”

“Be quiet,” says the man behind him, shoving at his shoulder blades. Michael bites down on a curse and stumbles on the asphalt as the back of the van is unlocked. His tail curls around his leg when his gaze falls on the cages. When he’s pushed towards the back of the van, Michael turns and snaps his teeth at the men. As reward for his aggressive behaviour, he receives a harsh blow to his side. The breath is knocked out of him yet again. He tumbles halfway into the van and the man already inside of it grabs him by the hair. A screech of pain spills from his lips as his ears are tugged on, legs coming up to kick and lash out. Another punch lands on his chest and he falls still, coughing and wheezing.

Metal creaks and groans as a cage door is pulled open. This time his neck is being seized as he’s forced into the cage, face-first. The barbs on his back are yanked out, pulling another shriek from his lips as he turns to face them only to have metal bars slammed into his nose. Michael reels backwards with a hiss, curling his knees in front of his chest as he sits on the chilly floor.

“Goddamn animal,” one of the men spits from outside. Michael scowls his way as they close up the van and leave him in the darkness. The growling in his chest slowly dissipates, leaving behind a high-pitched whine as he leans his cheek against the cage bars. The engine starts up and he can hear muted chatter through the metal separating him from the cabin. His weight is forced against the metal grating as they begin moving, leaving Michael grumbling his discomfort and wedging himself as best he can in the cramped space.

The ride to the compound leaves his stomach churning and mind reeling. His limbs ache and wrists chafe in the cuffs. He can’t get the wire off from his neck no matter how many times he struggles and tries to tuck his head down to bite at it. Michael seems ready to give up, pulling and yanking at his handcuffs, feeling skin tearing against the biting metal. Somehow, through the help of small hands and blood making his skin slippery, Michael gets one of his hands free. He quickly hurries to get the second cuff off of his wrist along with the wire around his neck, hissing at the sting as he’s left with from cuts and torn skin. He licks at his burning wrists, cleaning them of blood and soothing the irritated skin.

He feels somewhat better and confident by the time the van comes to a stop and the engine cuts off. Michael ducks his head down, shoving the wire into the corner and hiding his hands behind himself. The back of the van opens, light spilling through the bars of the cage and making Michael squint as he peers at the man approaching. His bangs hang in front of his eyes, blocking some of his view, but he doesn’t need to see to be able to tell when the door to his cage is unlocked.

A key turns in metal, scraping against tumblers, and the hinges squeak when pulled open. It’s all the warning Michael needs to know he’s got a chance, he can run, he has a chance at freedom.

He launches himself bodily towards the man before him, catching claws in his biceps. He shouts out in his surprise, backing up against the other set of cages. His partner calls out his name and reaches for his taser. Michael spots the movement out of the corner of his eye and barely has enough time to pull the man’s partner in front of him as a shield. The man fires and ends up shocking his friend, Michael shoving him forward and leaping at the second man.

He slams into the surprised human, knocking him off his feet and onto his back, coughing and losing his breath.

The third calls out from Michael’s left and the hybrid vaults to the right.

He spots a car nearby and darts behind it, hurrying along the car park and swerving between the parked vehicles. He hears two men behind him and doesn’t dare stop running, eyes wide and searching for an escape route.

He finds one in the shape of a worn fence. He darts towards it, glancing at the barbed wire on the top and frowning. He finds a weak spot and presses against the metal hearing it groan as welds pop open and he exposes a small opening. He wriggles his way through the gap, wincing as he hears seams tear and feels metal catching on his jeans. The shouting of the humans gets louder and his movements become more frantic until he finally slips through and tumbles to the ground.

Michael doesn’t have the time to stop and celebrate, taking off at full sprint down the street, ignoring the odd looks he gets from people passing by in cars. He can’t remember the address of the building, can’t even remember what _suburb_ it was in. If he can find a computer or some form of internet access, then maybe he can search it up, find where the company is based, ask for directions, _something!_

Michael slows down his pace when he reaches a busier area of the city. He quickly tucks his tail into his pants, ears remaining flat against his skull. He knows it’s dangerous to be around so many humans without some kind of collar on, but he knows there’s a library at the end of the street. If he can just make it there, he can access their computers and find his way back.

His attention shifts away from his objective as he brushes past a store, a couple beanies catching his eye. Michael makes sure no one’s looking when he snags one of them, hiding it in his hand as he continues along his way. Once he’s certain no one’s going to call him out, he pulls the beanie onto his head and relaxes; okay, he’s relatively safe now, he just has to pray that no one talks to him so he doesn’t accidentally show them his sharp teeth.

The library goes mostly unoccupied, rarely visited aside from a couple middle aged men and women and the occasional parents and their children.

The clerk behind the counter gives Michael a curious look as he enters but doesn’t question the bruise on his cheek. He’s grateful as he makes his way towards the computers and quickly opens up a browser, typing in _‘Rooster Teeth Podcast’_. He finds the company right away and looks at their contact page, finding an address with ease. Michael smiles triumphantly, repeating the words over and over to himself. Now he has to face the age old issue of how to get to the other side of the city without any form of transportation. His bare feet are going to be dead by the time he reaches his destination if he walks the entire way.

Michael departs from the library and glances around, beginning to head in the general direction of the suburb he needs to get to. He spots the familiar bright yellow of a taxi and rushes towards the street, waving his arm. The car drives right past him and Michael lets out an irritable sigh. He continues walking, avoiding looking at the humans as he does so. A few minutes later and he spots another taxi, this one heading in the correct direction, and he waves at it.

The vehicle pulls over and waits for him. Michael smiles yet again and pulls the back door open, sliding inside.

“Hello, where would you like to go?” the man in the front seat question. Michael rattles off the address. The taxi driver nods and indicates out into traffic as Michael buckles up.

His tail is uncomfortable being sat on so he sits on one of his legs. His gaze trains out the window, watching as buildings and people rush past him. Michael’s only been on a few car rides, most of them unpleasant, but this one is the only one he’s managed to pull a true smile in. The driver seems to understand he doesn’t want to talk and doesn’t really push the idea.

When the taxi pulls up outside the address and Michael’s asked for payment, he replies with, “Let me just go grab it from inside.” The driver looks sceptical but nods and allows it. Michael slips out of the back seat and quickly wanders into the car park. He slows down upon spotting a police vehicle parked amongst other regular ones. Shit, what if they suspect it’s him? Of course they suspect he did this; he was the only one there last night.

Even so, Michael swallows down his pride and steps inside the building, pulling off the beanie from his head. He finds himself facing two policemen, one of which notices him instantly and places a hand on his holstered gun.

“Stop, don’t move.” Michael freezes, eyes darting to the second police officer who turns away from speaking to Geoff to look at him. “Raise your hands slowly and turn around.” Michael can’t help but snort and shake his head. “I will not ask again, raise-”

“There was a burglar here last night,” he states, interrupting the police officer and finally getting them to listen to him. Jack walks out from around the corner, Gavin in tow, smiling at Michael. “I heard him from the office I was in and went to face him. He swung at me with a golf club and hit me a few times before I fought back and he ran off. When he left, I went back to sleep, only then the Local Hybrid Authority showed up and took me away. I wasn’t wearing my collar when I was asleep so they mistook me for a stray.”

Gavin opens his mouth, looking ready to make a comment, but Jack thankfully shuts him up. The officers look satisfied with the story, relaxing, one taking a few steps towards him and asking, “Well, who’s your owner then?”

“I am,” Geoff speaks up quickly, stepping around the police officer and approaching Michael. The hybrid’s shoulders drop in relief, watching as the older man stops before him and raises a hand slowly. Michael allows him to turn his head to the side and inspect the bruises on his cheek, then the red marks around his neck. “Jack, can you see to his wounds? I still have to provide the officers with a few more details. They need to hear Michael’s side of the story too, but not when he’s in pain.”

“Got it.”

Michael allows himself to be carted off with the other man, back into the office, sitting on the couch he had been soundly asleep in not even two hours ago. He doesn’t question it as he’s passed a couple pills and a glass of water, swallowing them down and providing little fuss as his wrists are bandaged and his bruises cleaned up.

The police officers appear a couple minutes later, sitting down with Michael and getting him to retell the story of what happened. He does so and avoids the details on escaping from the Hybrid Authorities. The police don’t question it; as far as they’re concerned, none of the catchers were harmed by Michael himself, only one of them was tasered by his own partner.

“We’ll be in contact shortly once we file the report and round up a sketch artist or a couple suspects,” says the younger officer, smiling at Michael reassuringly. He nods and waits until the two strangers disappear before he sinks lower into the couch. Jack casts him a concerned look and Michael shakes his head, pulling his tail out of his pants.

“Everything sucks ass,” he says as explanation. Jeremy steps into the office and makes his way over towards Michael.

He seats himself down beside the hybrid, lounging against the back of the couch. “So, I heard you kicked some burglar butt today,” he begins conversationally. Michael can’t help but chuckle and nod.

“Yeah, got a couple bruises for it but I took a chunk out of the guy’s shoulder for sure.” It’s Jeremy's turn to laugh and nod.

“Like a true guard dog. Or rather a guard cat? Anyways, are you, like, alright though?”

Michael gives him an odd look, frowning, and shakes his head. “Not really, everything hurts and I feel like shit. Painkillers haven’t kicked in yet.” There’s a hum of understanding from beside him and Jack picks himself up from his place beside Michael, returning to his desktop. The door bursts open not even a couple seconds later, Gavin rushing into the room and making directly for Michael. The hybrid barely has enough time to brace himself and halt the other’s rapid approach, limbs pressing painfully into his bruises and causing him to whine.

“Oh, sorry, sorry, Michael boy,” he apologises, retreating and running his eyes over him cautiously. “I was just really worried when we arrived and you weren’t here and things were trashed! I thought something bad had happened to you and it did!”

Michael waves his concern off like it’s nothing, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Gavin obviously doesn’t believe a word he says, eyeing the bruises on his skin with doubt. “Seriously, it’ll go away eventually.”

Gavin leans closer and inspects Michael’s cheek, making the hybrid lean away warily. Jeremy just chuckles from beside him. “Gav, bud, personal space,” he chastises. Gavin backs up almost instantly.

“Bollocks, sorry! It just looks really bad.”

Michael nods slowly, then remembers the taxi driver. “Oh, shit, I had to take a cab to get here, the guy’s out in the parking lot waiting to get paid.”

There’s a sigh from his right and Jeremy gets up from the couch, “I’ll go tell Burnie, he’s the money man.” Michael smiles gratefully at the other as he leaves, tucking his knees up and leaning against them. Unfortunately, Gavin takes that as an invitation to get closer to him and lean against his good side. Michael gives him a small hiss but it’s less than half-hearted and there’s a smile on his lips as he rests his non-bruised cheek against a knee.

A hand slips into his hair and, overcoming his initial instinctual reaction to snap at the limb, Michael gives him a weird look. Gavin just grins and pokes at one of his ears, causing them to twitch. “I wanted to know what your ears felt like.”

“Way to fucking ask before invading my personal space,” Michael says with a sigh, making sure he doesn’t say no in his words. Sure enough, Gavin’s fingers reach for his ears once again, rubbing the furred appendages between finger and thumb. He snickers at the childish action but the noise dies off when Gavin scratches at the base of his ears. Michael tilts into the touch, smiling softly.

He doesn’t hear the door open as Jeremy returns. “Oh hey, are we petting the kitty?” Michael opens an eye he didn’t realize was closed and flips the other off.

“Fuck off, Jeremy.” He closes his eye and tips his head backwards, encouraging more scratches. A hand rests on his tail and he glances at Jeremy, quirking an eyebrow. “Can’t help yourself, huh?”

“Dude, how could I? Your tail’s fucking awesome.” Michael smiles at the praise and resumes leaning into Gavin’s touch. Fingers pet along the length of his tail, and occasionally he finds nails running through the fur. That mixed with the pleasant warmth in his head is enough to make his chest thrum happily. He’s not trying to stifle the purring like the other times. The humans on either side of him laugh, Gavin squeaking slightly. “That’s so cool,” Jeremy remarks.

“Michael, you sound like a car engine!” Michael merely hums and turns his head to get scratches on his other ear.

He really doesn’t care about the door opening yet again, not until Geoff clears his throat and demands his attention. The hands stop their movement and Michael’s purr dies down as he opens an eye. He finds himself faced with a smiling Geoff holding up an envelope proudly. “Take one guess as to what’s in here.”

“Taxes,” Michael says automatically. That only makes Geoff laugh and shake his head.

“Close, but no! It’s a hybrid ownership letter.”

Michael’s stomach flips, and he’s not sure if that’s good or not. His eyes open fully, no longer weighed down by tiredness due to the sudden revelation. “Yeah?”

“Yep! Makes me the proud owner of a feline hybrid by the name of Michael.” Michael watches closely as Geoff opens the letter and removes the piece of paper, passing it to Jeremy. The envelope still looks like it has something inside of it, some kind of item, and Michael’s stomach drops. A collar. Of _course_ he has to wear a collar.

But Geoff holds out the envelope to him and Michael isn’t sure whether he wants to take it from him or set it on fire. He hesitates but eventually grabs hold of the envelope. It feels heavy to him, unsurprisingly, but when he looks inside he doesn’t find a collar within. He tips the contents into his free hand, watching as a silver necklace falls out. He finds his name scrawled on the pendant’s smooth surface, some contact details printed on the back of it, legally registering him as an owned hybrid, safe and free to roam outside without concern of being chased by catchers or locked up.

“I didn’t think you’d be too big on a collar, so I got you the necklace alternative,” Geoff explains, taking back the documents from Jeremy. Gavin fawns over the necklace in Michael’s hand as the hybrid turns it over, peering at both sides. “You can sleep in the office if you want or stay with one of the employees for a couple nights, maybe have a schedule set up; Jeremy's place on Friday nights, Jack’s Saturday, and so on. Is… is this okay? It’s kind of the law you have to wear identification, and even though I’d rather not make you wear it at all, I ha-”

“It’s great,” Michael interrupts, surprising the trio gathered around him. He loops the necklace over his head and glances down at the pendant hanging over his chest. He rests a hand over it and looks up at Geoff with a grin. “I love it, thank you heaps.”

The man merely smiles and shrugs, “The least I could do.” Michael can’t really show how grateful he is but the purring starting back up in his chest is a good start.

Ryan enters the room after a couple minutes and asks for names and descriptions of the hybrid catchers, only for Geoff to tell him off and say no repeatedly. Ryan gives up eventually and begins fiddling with the spare desk, logging into a new account. Michael feels Gavin’s hand back in his hair and he continues purring, a pleased chirrup following when Jeremy joins in.

Ryan calls Michael over after ten minutes, turning the empty chair towards him and stating it’s all his. The hybrid pauses and stares at the setup, mouth opening a little. “Really?” After receiving a firm nod, Michael seats himself down and runs his hands over the mouse and keyboard. Gavin seats himself on his right, grinning and logging into his own computer.

“So, we ready for some more Minecraft?” Geoff questions, wandering over to his own computer. Jack returns just in time to nod affirmative and help get the equipment set up. Michael needs a couple tips from the others on how to get started and have the equipment properly recording but eventually it works and he’s loaded into the game, instantly getting punched and beaten to death by Geoff, all because he wants a stupid map.

“ _Ass_ hole!”

As they start to play, Michael idly curls his fingers over the circular tag hanging from his neck. He smiles and wonders how he got so lucky to stumble upon this building, this company. He’s found himself a home with friends he actually likes and trusts, people who don’t treat him like an animal.

Gavin leans over and tells him his purring is fucking up their recording only for Michael to tell him to shut up and respawn because, sure enough, during the moment he was distracted, Gavin’s died yet again. The whole group laughs at him and Michael joins in, glancing at the faces around him.

Yeah, he’s not planning on going anywhere any time soon.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote all this within 12 hours im done goodbye  
> i might write a sequel/epilogue, idk, would anyone be interested?


End file.
